Herbal Essence, Fido?

I claim to be no expert on rights of any beast or bird or any of that business, other than what was offered in the Good Book. And THIS BLOG IS IN NO WAY SUPPOSED TO INSINUATE THAT I AM FOR OR AGAINST SUCH THINGS. IT IS SIMPLY AN OBSERVATION.

Furthermore, it is simply a blog centered around the musings a man, myself, whose casual latrine reading included the back of a shampoo bottle. That being said, ahem.

I wouldn't normally write about things that I read while on the can, but I found this of interest, so interesting, that I checked every bottle all day to see if it had been animal tested.

Now, every time I see a bottle that reads, "not tested on animals" I get a little warm and fuzzy just like everyone else. But what of that? Take for instance the shampoo bottle I observed today on the throne. As I pondered the horrible scene of Fido being washed and messaged all day by a clean strawberry shampoo, I tried to muster a real sympathy but could only achieve a mild nothing. In fact, I felt really sorry for the pooch who missed out on that really nice cleaning experience.

And what about drugs? Every single drug you take has been tested on Fifel. Every. Single. One. Nobody gripes about the cancer given to poor fifel when doused with an insane amount of Sweet'n'low. Nooooo. Nobody cares when they see that picture of the mouse with the human ear dangling off its neck. (Genetically engineered to grow a human ear. On its neck. I crap you not.)

NOOOOOO. But when it comes to Fido's salon treatment we are all tears and picket signs. "STOP THE CRUEL SHAMPOOING OF ANIMALS!"

Give that dog a perm. Give that dog a shampoo'in. Give that dog some drano... no wait. Scratch that last on. But who needs to know if Drano would kill a pooch? DUUUUUUHHHHH??? Of course it would kill him. Use some common sense, goofballs.

That's all for now. Carry on.

P.S., I do not want an education on animal testing. My imagination is sufficient. I am aware that it gets cruel and gross. Please don't post links to incredibly graphic animal maiming. I won't click through. This blog was only a musing, not to be taken too terribly serious.

Long live Fifel.

Ode to the Dachshund

I am sitting here for no other reason, except for the sheer strangle-hold that A.D.D. has over my consciousness, contemplating the creational merits of the dachshund. It is a queer and unfruitful being that God has created in this oddity of the K-9 world. One has to wonder why the Good Lord decided "and on this day, I shall create the dachshund, and he shall be called, affectionately, the wiener dog." (cue thunder, lightning and timpani trills.)

I do wonder what the Lord thought when he created that dog? Was He a tad sleepy?

God: *Omnipotent yawn* "Oh, what was I going to make today? Hmmm, the very long squash or some a kind of hound? Hmmmm, that might be interesting! And so it shall be created... (Again, the thunder and lightning.)

[*dachshund is created. God breaths life into the mess*]

First Dachsund: "Arf!"

God: "Gracious, that... wasn't quite as magnificent as it was one minute ago. Oh well."


Now, I know that God never makes a mistake, nor does he think twice about anything that he does... but sometimes, when you see things like the dachshund, or hear things like Britney Spears talk about politics, or ponder the suspicious joy running rampant on any given Japanese Game show... you have to wonder, does the Good Lord create while sleepy? However, I suppose someone could ask the same question about me. The Polaroid taken of my morning attire at this very moment might ruin my life in politics forever... Thank goodness that's out of the question. (Picture or politics.)

I can't think of anything more strange, bizarre, or un-aesthetically pleasing, (other than the male reproductive organs) on God's green earth. However, like the male reproductive organs, the dachshund serves a greater purpose in this big beautiful world. He/she brings pleasure to their master's already-bizarre world-view just as the man brings children, and every-once-in-a-while, physical pleasure to his wife. A final comparison: And like the male organ the dachshund cares not what the world thinks of him and acts entirely on its own behalf, sometimes to its detriment, yipping, carrying-on like a the worst of childish brats when it doesn't get enough attention... maybe it is a strange and cool irony that they share the same informal moniker.

Final note: I have yet to meet a dachshund owner that does not have strangeness in proportion themselves, whether mental or physical. Not to say that the dachshund owner is ugly, nay, many-a-cosmopolitan model has graced our street holding a rope that dangles off the collar of those little weird dogapillars. But I'm sure, upon further examination, one would easily find in them a "strangeness" that would equally match the oddity of the wiener hound.

That's all for now. As you were.

Dear Government, Show Me The Money. Love, AIG.

The financial world is in crisis... millions of Houstonites are without power... we are a gazillion dollars in debt to countries that aren't considered "friendly"... we are spending one thousand million billion dollars on Iraq every month... and I have heartburn.

Whatever shall we do? I say, we watch the news and get more scared. See, the more scared we are, the less we all spend and live. Yes, yes. Run down to the bank, right now, and get all your money out and stick it in your fridge. (no robber ever looks there, however if you've got kids, good luck.)

The media FEASTS on fear. Now, the financial situation is bad. I go to a bible study full of guys who work for all these places. Or at least they used to work for these firms... we'll see what the situation is tomorrow morning. Anyways, most of them will tell you that whatever is going on, even though it sucks, it is the right thing and the healthy thing for the economy in the long run. They were practicing unethical business practices. From "naked shorting" (stock term. Just know that it is one of most illegal-legal things going on in the stockmarket today. It is the equivalent someone telling lies about you and every lie told about you they get more money.) to giving Bubba and Lora-lee, who make 12,000 dollars a year, a loan for a 400,000 dollar house.

In the end, if you ask anyone, it is good old fashioned market correction. It is reaaaaaaally PAINFUL correction, but a needed one nonetheless. It might take a couple of years to totally recover, but we will recover. I just pray that the government only has to bail out a one or two more of the big boys. AIG looks like it is next. GM is of course lifting a pant-leg and thumbing for a ride, but I don't think the fed goes in for the working man's hairy, chubby leg. I think they are more attracted to the rich, fat, Wall-street crook who have been sleezing-up the world financial markets for the past 20 years. But hey, the gov. and those guys are long time lovers.

Provide the Caption

First couple that come to my mind:

"I bet I could pick you up!"

"I baptize you in the name of the Father the Son, and the Scary Ghost."

Recent Palin Concerns: Blink about it.

"You can't blink..." was the answer Sarah Palin gave when she was asked by an ABC correspondent if she had stopped to think about the VP offer. The same kind of rhetoric was used when talking about attacking RUSSIA. uuuuuummmm.

Sarah Palin - "I -- I answered him yes because I have the confidence in that readiness and knowing that you can’t blink, you have to be wired in a way of being so committed to the mission, the mission that we’re on, reform of this country and victory in the war, you can’t blink. So I didn’t blink then even when asked to run as his running mate.”

Something about this bothered me a little, not the scripted responses, not the annoying overuse of "Charlie" when answering his questions... it was "You can't blink" that has made me reconsider this Palin business. And why shouldn't I? Should we all be so "loyal?" I'll be darned if I am going to simply vote for someone because I like them. I'll be darned if I am going to turn a blind-eye to internal red-flags just because I want to believe in the idea of someone. I won't be one of those ridiculous liberals/conservatives who only vote democratic and liberal or Republican and Conservative because they have chosen idiotic extremism. In my opinion, those folks are one step away from burning books and goose-stepping.

I am also not going to vote for someone based upon their views in ONE area that is important to me. Hell, Hitler loved art. He was good at it. I like art. I make a living in it, or try to...

So, folks, after the aforementioned interview, I am watching carefully and waiting....

See, to me, the words "blink" and "think" are awfully similar. And any human being asked to run for VP, who has a normal functioning brain, would at least stop to consider the possibility. A part of me wonders if that "you can't blink" attitude would somehow seep into all of her other decisions as president. (Come on, that's what we are really voting for here people. If McCain wins, it will be 4 years. Sarah would be the next president.) We've had enough of that "can't blink," pistols-blazing, cowboy crap for the past 8 years.

In other words, please, for the love of Sasquatch... blink, Sarah. Blink several times. Blink when the Russians are attacking Georgia. Blink when your VP tells you that they think that some country might have weapons of mass destruction. Blink about what you are going to do. Blink about it before you go to bed, before you brush your teeth. Shoot, blink about preemptive strikes on a country while you are tinkling. I really won't mind. Blink about every decision you would make as President. Blink about it with your staff members. Blink about it with VP McCain. Shoot, hire Obama and blink about it with him. Even give ole' Bill Clinton a call. I can guarantee he's been blinking about you. (bu-dum-splash!)

As Descartes once said, "I blink therefore I am." So, if you are not blinking, you are gambling. And I don't want a gambler anywhere near the nuke button in the next 8 volatile years...

I haven't written her off, I still like her, I still think there is promise, but I'm just saying that I won't be voting for her on the power of that one speech alone. I gotta see a whooooooooole lot more evidence of careful, and critical blinking on her part.

Political Stuff. Obama and Palin... I mean, McCain.

I just watched Obama and McCain give their shpeal to America via a forum at Columbia University. It was pretty good. What astounded me was that... I know this is blasphemy... Obama kind bored me. Look out! I feel the thunder upon me.

No seriously, I like both candidates. I do. About the only thing that I don't like about Obama is his views on abortion and in the end, that just might put me over the edge as far as the voting goes, but I don't know.

What surprised me was McCain. I found that that was first time that I actually "connected" with McCain. He's always been a bit of a mystery to me and I've always said that I felt that underneath the war hero rhetoric was a Ross Perot waiting to charge the Nuke button, but not after tonight.

Just some evening political thoughts from an Okie who's just trying to figure this all out.

What I really want is another J.F.K. But I'm thinking, unfortunately, not happenin' in my lifetime. A few quotes from Kennedy to help us to remember the days when a President could inspire us to do great things as a country and dream big things as a free people.





A man may die, nations may rise and fall, but an idea lives on.

Do not pray for easy lives. Pray to be stronger men.

As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them.

A child miseducated is a child lost.

Domestic policy can only defeat us; foreign policy can kill us.

I look forward to a future in which our country will match its military strength with our moral restraint, its wealth with our wisdom, its power with our purpose.

If a free society cannot help the many who are poor, it cannot save the few who are rich.

Mankind must put an end to war, or war will put an end to mankind.

We need men who can dream of things that never were.

Let us call a truce to terror. Let us invoke the blessings of peace. And as we build an international capacity to keep peace, let us join in dismantling the national capacity to wage war.

Houston Hurricanes 101

Jagged lines of cars at every gas station. Sitting in unending traffic jams, waiting for the car to run out of gas and the hurricane to slaughter you whilst you idled. Entire families peeing in the woods. Old women fighting old women for the last lonely Dasani bottle at the Krusty Mart. Oh the sweet memories of Houston Hurricanes...

Oddly, the last Houston hurricane debacle was one of the most traumatic experiences in recent memory. And for what? Nothing but a few overturned palm trees and a gentle sprinkle here or there. I've seen harder rains coming from the raised leg of a Chihuahua. In fact, I'm pretty sure it was one of the biggest Nature-fake-outs in the history of the United States.

Now that I've said all of this, I'm sure that this hurricane Ike will be doing much more damage to Houston, and I'm in no way saying that you should ignore that big glob of swirling clouds that has taken over all of your normal television programming, but I am saying... possibly consider staying at home instead of bolting for the nearest gas station. Or at least consider finding a nice comfy storm shelter... cause sitting in a traffic jam for 26 hours (no exaggeration) with a "deadly" hurricane approaching your stranded arse off the port bow... S.U.C.K.S.

I'm pretty sure that Houston has been hit by several hurricanes in its hot and humid history, and I'm pretty sure it survived. How could it not? The whole darn place is concrete.

If we were still there, instead of running for the hills, we'd pop some popcorn, kick back, get the candles ready, (in the safest place we could find- the Holtzman Fortress) and watch the show.

But hey, I'm the guy who used to get into a Ford Pinto with my buddy James and go Nader-chasing. Don't listen to me.

Irreverence Is Boweliss

An oldie but goody.

Oops

Can you imagine how hard it would be, day in and day out to have to be so unbelievably conscientious of every. single. word. you say? One wrong turn of the phrase and you might as well have flashed the camera.

This one, though... Almost as bad as Bush's "It's a crusade..."

Maybe The Best Thing I've Seen All Year

Thank you Vitamin Z, thank you.

Give It A Rest...

WARNING! THIS BLOG IS RATED PG-13. THIS BLOG IS NOT FOR EVERYONE. CONSULT YOUR PARENT BEFORE READING THIS BLOG

I'm really getting tired of commercials about erectile dysfunction. See, I'm a visual guy. Metaphors and words are powerful things for me. And when I sit down in front of the tube, after a long day of... church, to eat my delectable chirping chicken, the last words I want to hear, the last thing I want to visualize is a dysfunctional erection. I mean, didn't these guys ever learn manners from their parents?

What if I sat down to the table as a youngster, with my family, and right before my dad put that first bite of mashed potatoes and gravy in his mouth, I blurted out, "ERECTION!" What do you think would happen? A good smackin', that's what.

But that happens every day folks. I wonder how many parents have had to explain what the heck an erectile dysfunction is to their young sons or daughters over Superbowl popcorn.

And the music in these commercials... It is really just one step up from porno music. Is that supposed to elicit some sort of pheromone in the poor man watching and help him garner the courage to strut to the pharmacy-counter and ask for blue pill with a studly wink? Me thinks not. And if that ever happens to me, lord of Hosts forbid it, I'll be going to the pharm looking like inspector gadget, with Groucho Marx mustache to boot.

I don't know. I understand Pharmaceuticals advertising and I am truly glad there is something out there giving the world of men such a beautiful hope, and I realize that the word must get out somehow, but they should really start putting ratings on these commercial... Gross-out ratings. Or, "don't-take-that-bite-of-your-corn-dog-just-yet ratings."

Because it's really getting out of hand. This year, I've watched more sports than I have in many, many years and I'm not sure how many men are aware of how-out-of -hand it has gotten. Talk about a downer. How can these commercials not dampen the mood of watching your favorite sporting event? Whatever happened to the funny beer commercials? Cheery Dr. Pepper Commercials? Dancing Gap commercials? I don't drink beer, but they sure were funny. Now all I see is the grim future ahead of me. As if I needed yet another reminder of how much older I'm getting as I watch tennis players who look like they should be going to driver's ED.

I don't care how much you spruce-up the commercial with pseudo-porn music and video clips of middle-aged footsies and hammock snuggling or barefoot walks on the beach... the notion of erectile dysfunction will forever be a bonefied downer.

And So It Shall Be

Finally, from the ashes of failed ruling men, tired of watching the big boys turn the world into a idiotic war-zone... arises...

The Soccer (hockey) Mom.

We knew it would happen. Same thing happened to us guys when we couldn't get along while growing up. Mom steps in, grabs an handful of ear and hair, and creates peace, sanity, and order.


And the Soccer (Hockey Mom) shall rule the earth. Looks like the Republican party has finally caught up with CCM radio.

She's got my vote. Just saw the footage of Sarah firing off a rifle. I hate to say it, but something about that was slightly awesome, possibly even a little, dare I say it?

While we are talking about mothers... One of the earliest memories of my mother: I was probably 5 years old. We were walking back to the house from the river. Between the wooded river bank and our house was a semi-wooded pasture area. As my mother and I walked, three or four heifers and steers appeared from nowhere and began charging us. Now, I know cows don't sound very scary, but just try getting charged by one, let alone three to five.

My mother picked up a big stick, grabbed me by the shoulder, put me behind her and every time a cow charged she would yell and take a whack at the cow's forehead. She was like some viking warrior-mom of old. It was awesome. It wasn't to me at the time though; I think I peed my pants.

Anyways, after the 5th or sixth charge, the cows gave up.

I have never been so scared my whole life. I'm still to this day a tad wary of cows. My mother barely mentioned it to my dad when we returned home. All in a days work for a country-girl-preacher's-wife/mother.

Election Junkie

Here it comes folks. Old Sethie is about to get obsessed. I can't help it. I love election season. It is probably the most patriotic that I ever get. The democratic election process is uniquely American. We are a democratic republic. Genius. As Jefferson put it, we are a republic "bound by fixed laws, which the people have a voice in making, and a right to defend."

The election is a time where character is tested, and great men rise or fall. It is a grueling process but one that has been tested by fire. It exemplifies much of the freedom that we hold dearly in this nation. Yes it is flawed, yes it gets nasty, but by golly, it works.

But before you go bashing our political process of election, (which is popular among young, emergent Christians these days,) remember that things used to be a lot nastier. In 1804 Aaron Burr challenged Alexander Hamilton to a duel and shot him dead. Thankfully, none of that goes on today.

So, bring it on. Bring on all the smut and mud-slinging and biased and unbiased opinions. Because like it or not, the freedom for anyone to be able run for office is flat-out amazing. The freedom for anyone to be able to stand outside the stadium and protest a candidates views is amazing. But freedom is something you have to fight for, and the election is a part of that fight and it is a part of the beauty of this country. The good and the bad.

My favorite thing that Bill Clinton ever said was in response to a particular time where a speech from a member of his cabinet was met with hostile jeering and taunting from the audience.

Afterwards Clinton was asked what he thought of the rude crowd. Clinton responded, "Hey, just sounds like a good old-fashioned American town hall meeting to me."

You got to love it.

Sarah Palin

Ladies and Gentlemen, Introducing the future First Woman President. I have started this first sentence over 5 times. There are so many things about this whole situation baffling me. I'm just going to start spouting them off.

Palin THE FIRST WOMAN eeeeeEEEEEEEVER (or, who eeeeeEEEEEVER had a chance) nominated for the VP in HISTORY OF OUR COUNTRY and what is the media doing????? (recently corrected by Vitamin Z, Geraldine Ferraro first woman to run for VP. Sadly forgotten by moi, and the rest of the world by the wallop her and Mondale got from Regan. So a modifer is in the parenthesis before this parenthesis.) They are somehow criticizing this woman for not being an attentive mother????? Does ANYONE not see even the slightest HINT of hypocrisy in this claim??? Is the right to be nominated as a woman only allowed to over-the-top liberal crocadile-tear producing x-first ladies??? Are fathers just some sort of meat-sack that shovels food into mouths? Has this question EVER been asked of a single male???

I tell you what I like about Palin. Besides the fact that she can skin a moose, and I can't. She is all woman. That's right. Yes, it's true, she's got some metaphorical balls, and I wouldn't want to trade punches with her, but she also has grace, charm, and wit. She is darn close to being the American version of Margeret Thatcher. She is like Hemingway's dream-woman. She stands up to the bullies by serving them a stout "up-yours" drink with a slice of wit sluicing the cup's rim. She is also a mother. Not only is she a mother but she is an advocate for motherhood. She honors her husband, but you better believe that she'd throw his ass out on his ear if she ever caught him shopping for cigars with another gal.

I think the Lib media hates here because they cannot find the proper angle for which to attack her. It is easy to attack a man about any pro-life stance he might take, but it be damn hard to attack a woman who has popped out 5 kids and refused to abort number 5 because it was going to be a child with special needs. Not only did she choose to keep the baby, she said she would be an advocate for the weak. How dare the media attack her on her pro-life stance and turn around and tell her that she isn't being a good enough mother to her special needs baby. They are the bastards that thought she should have killed the poor little tike before it could be mothered.

I'm even flabbergasted at the WOMEN in the media!!! I think it is because she just isn't their sort. The women in media are used to rising to the top by playing slime-ball right along with the big boys and somehow slithering by them and slicing their throat in the night, to even out the odds. Palin is different. She rose to the top by out-pitching the big boys. She grew up in a state where women are outnumbered by men 2-1 and she learned that to beat the boys, you just gotta outrun, out-punch and out-shoot them. She beat them fair and square.

Now, I have not doubt that McCain picked her strategically, but I also think McCain was just being McCain. He saw a great running mate, no, the BEST running mate for our Country right now, and, well, ran with her.

For crying out loud, the least we can do, as a country is take a moment, and revel in this historical moment.

Palin has won my vote in the past week. Obama the Lord (as my friend Forky calls him) needs a little more seasoning, not to mention a lesson in the concrete.

Here is some of her speech from last night, if you missed it.

Not a bad day...

I can't believe how flabbergastingly beautiful it is here in NYC. I know what some of you are thinking. "Oh shut up you typical NYC-braggart." But I just can't help it. It is so beautiful that I almost skipped down the street today. Then I realized just how gay that would look (not that there's anything wrooong with that,) and settled for whistling.

Today's chores included:

Getting up at 7-ish and walking my heck-of-a wife to the subway. I took the long way home around Columbus Circle and by Central Park.

Stopped to pick up a NY Times from a street vendor.

Went home and sat on my deck and read said NY times under the baby-blue sky and in the soft, cool breeze.

Drank coffee.

Researched Literary agents.

Drank more coffee.

Worked on dissertation.

Responded to Superchurchlady's fun blog.

Made an omelet.

Gobbled down the omelet.

Read 20 or so pages of the Sound and the Fury. (It's growing on me, finally. 9000th attempt at reading it.)

Called future employer. (Hopefully...)

Life was rough today. (Famous last words.)

Life is full of different moments. Some suck and some are heavenly. Some are tiresome (getting evicted and moving 3 times in 3 months) and leave you feeling like crap (or smelling crap, see post about poo-tub) and some make you want to go hand-gliding, or skipping. Sometimes it seems that just when everything is going great, you get a big kick in the crotch.

Today, the crotch wasn't bothered and there was no poo-tub. It was only coffee, omelets, NY times, and blue skies. When you have have those kind of days, you just gotta shout about them.

Therefore, I shout. Thank you Lord for this good day!

The trick is to somehow be thankful during the crotch-kicks too. I'm still learning that art of that, and have a looooong way to go. They are really painful. But I think it was Jesus that said, "in this world, you will have crotch-kicks, but my peace I leave you." -The Message Bible.

Seriously, I hope everyone reading this here blog experiences one or two of those days this week, despite of your circumstances.

Peace love and joy, people. Feel it. Own it. Claim it!

I'd like to teach the world to sing... a perfect harmony.... (Quick, music trivia. Who wrote that jingle?)

E.D.O.R.K.

All husbands have this talent. It can be conjured at any moment. It can be summoned no matter how weary we are.

I call it: The Emergency Dumb Outfit Reflex Kinaesthesia. EDORK, for short.

Say, your wife hears something in the night. The wife, slightly scared, wakes you up. You mumble something about the carrot juice, earwax and spaceships - something that made TOTAL sense in your dream - leaving your wife more spooked. Annoyed, she shakes your arm and tells you to listen. Then you hear hear the darn noise. (Some sort of "click" or something that the brain can't quite place.) So, you reach for the light and grab a shirt. Not just any old shirt, but the shirt that would clash the worst with your boxer briefs. Most times, that shirt is inside-out or backwards. Then comes the shoes... At first you MIGHT think "Flip-flops," but Flip-flops are rarely chosen, because they can rarely be found in these moments. After all, you might be called upon to go outside. So, your brain turns quickly to the cowboy boots, front and center, because they provide the most all-around protection and are best for stomping mice and spiders and all other things that are enemies of the wife.

Then, dear friends comes the strange pedestal factor of EDORK. Somehow, we always find ourselves standing on a chair, reaching for something, on one leg, with our wives safely on the ground or couch, watching.

Then we hear it. The chuckle. We turn and view the wife, still in her perfectly matching pajamas, pointing and chuckling at our EDORK attire. It is then that we notice that our judgment might not be what we think it is. It is then that the wife is proven superior in judgment and we are left with a strange alternative. Either get down, immediately and fix the clothing ensemble, or we act like we don't care at all and continue on our pedestal in wife-late-night-entertainment.

Most times we blaze on, and act like we knew how goofy we looked the whole time, but other times... I wonder if the wife secretly set the whole thing up. You see, it alllllllll goes back to Eden. They WANT the power. And how do they GET the power??? By slowly chipping away at our manliness. See, I wonder if our wives don't set the whole darn thing up. I wonder if they wait till we are talking nonsenical in our sleep to sneak out of bed, turn our shirts inside out, unmatch our socks, hide our pants, and strategically place the worst looking boots at the FRONT of the closet.

I just wonder...

Regardless, EDORK is a true gift. It shows that we are truly fearless. It shows that no matter what, we are not afraid of humiliating ourselves to return to our dreams.

Can I get a witness.

Top Of The Heap

Back in the Apple. Feeling good. Feeling really good. The weather is exceptional right about now.

However, during my summer travels, I did grow accustomed to being transported places and not using my limbs unless completely necessary. Meaning: Four flights of stairs, carrying my sweet wife's luggage/anvil-collection almost flat-lined me. "Clear!"

After I laid down for a few minutes to calm the ole' ticker, we headed out to eat at one of our favorite restraunts.

Heavenly sunlight, heavenly sunlight flooding my mouth with cobbler diviiiiIIIIIINE. Hallelujah, I'm almost bloating...

Okay, tired of the hymn-perversion.

Going to church in the morning. Looking forward to it.

Spirituality Rant Alert!:

I have decided that I am no longer an Evangelical Christian. I am simply, a Christian. Seriously, why don't we have Apostlical Christians? (I guess we do, they are called Catholics.) Prophetical Christans? Pastorical Christains? Teachical Christians? Healical Chrisians? Administrationical Christians? Those are all Spiritual gifts, right? Why do we teach all Christians to be Evangelists when maybe, just maybe they haven't been given that particular spiritual gift? Maybe that's why we're in the schtick we are today? Maybe that's why "Evangelical" has become synonymous with "close-minded and irritatingly pushy." People are trying to be evangelists to their neighbors when they should be cooking their neighbors dinner.

When I was a young lad, I used to tremor something FIERCE when I was forced to go door to door and hand out tracts. My words would jumble and the four Romans road turned into to something very unorthodox. To be honest, I hated it. Later I discovered that that wasn't my particular spiritual gift, and good Lord, what a relief. I thought I was just a no good un-born-again heathen.

Maybe, just maybe, teaching our kids to love their neighbor when their neighbor is mean or nasty to them is a better witness then telling them to cram the four spirchal laws down their throats?

The bottom line for me is this: The Holy Spirit is in the business of drawing a soul God. The Holy Spirit is in the business of giving the gifts to those who are there to close the deal. That may come through evangelism, preaching, teaching, cooking a meal, being a good and kind boss, or being a true friend. God speaks in a still small voice, and when done through the properly allotted gifts, they take on that attribute. When done improperly, it becomes a still obnoxious voice.

Evangelical? Who are we to claim the market on any one of those gifts.

I wanna run, I want to hide.

I've started a morning regimen of sit ups and push ups and let me tell you... wait a second...

By gum... I think I don't mind it! WOW!

That may be the first time I've ever said that about any sort of organized or self-inflicted calisthenics.

(Pausing to review my life-working-out history.)

Let's see... I despise running with a passion. (I would just assume sniff a trucker's rhoid-cushion to running a mile.) And, as I remember back to my educational prison sentence... yes, I still have a black burning coal of hatred behind each knee-cap for high school gym class.

Now, sports, that's another thing altogether. I love a good romp on a court or in the dirt and always have. I love football, baseball, tennis, racket ball, volleyball, aerobic walking if I am walking with someone because you can talk and pass the time, monopoly... (That's right, folks, monopoly is cardio when I play it. Especially for the "other players," otherwise known as "My future tenants/slaves." muhaha... muahahahaha... muuuHAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!)

About the only sport I hate playing is basketball. That's because I pretty much suck at it, and I ain't exactly a human skyscraper, and call me prideful, but when some 14-year-old kid in the youth group blocks my lay-up -or even my alley-oop for crying out loud - all of my faults and/or awkward memories, from childhood to present, go rushing before my eyes.

Anywho, other than basketball, as for just doing something for the sake of doing it, "working-out" sucks. It sucks bit poo-covered cow utters.

Seriously, if you think about it, working out is torture. I know, that isn't really a terribly original epiphany, but hang on a second. I know we say, "oh, wow, this is like torture!" But do we REALLY ever consider it to actually be torture??? Does torture REALLY have to be administered by the Japanese or a militant Islamist to be considered authentic, Grade-A torture? What does torture do and work to achieve? Here is the definition of torture, according to good old Webster:

1 a: anguish of body or mind : agony b: something that causes agony or pain
2: the infliction of intense pain (as from burning, crushing, or wounding) to punish, coerce, or afford sadistic pleasure

Sounds pretty much like the friggin StairMaster, Nautilus, or treadmill to me. Suuuure, we listen to music to take our mind off the pain, but I have a theory that eventually, hearing "Where the Streets Have No Name" is someday going to be to the Christian-weight-lifting-enthusiasts what Beethoven's 9th was to the psycho-rapist in A Clockwork Orange: a form of torture in itself.

Yes, I can see it now. Someday, Chris Tomlin is going to start singing "Where the Streets have No Name" (a song he covers) at a concert, thinking he will surprise all his avid worshipers by cleverly enlightening thousands unto spirit-U2-ality, but instead, he will choke on the chorus as he sees several thousand men writhing on the ground covering their ears and screaming for their mommas. Tomlin's last thought before he stops singing the song? "Why didn't any of big fellas eating chili-dogs writhe around on the ground when I started to sing the U2? Maybe momma was right... Maybe it really isn't a praise and worship song. Maybe it IS of the Devil."

Welp, arms are getting tired from all the push-ups. Gotta go. Chick-fil-a is 'a calling.

Et' tubes Guglie?

I suppose everyone has heard about the guy, pastor Michael Guglie-manilli singing healing songs with the oxygen tubes in his nose. Am I the only person who finds that mildly funny? (Now I said, "mildly.") I'm sorry, I keep remembering the Conan O'Brien skit "Dudz'a'plenty" in which Conan invented a boy band. Conan insisted that there be some cool handicap guy in the boy band as all famous boy bands tend to have someone sporting a cane. So Conan made one of his Dudz'a'plenty boyband members sit in a wheel-chair and sing with an oxygen mask. He called it a "Vanity Respirator." It was hilarious.

I suppose I should be a little more judgemental about ole' Guglie, but I really just can't. I'm more prone to rolling my eyes and chuckling. I've done my fair share of stupid things in church. Like the time I stood in front of the entire church, spoke my bible verse (one of 4 bible drill winners) and flipped-off all my friends sitting in the balcony, especially the ones who kept giving me phantom golf claps. Now, it wasn't an all-out "hanging of the bone" on my part. It was gently tapped on my arm as my arms where crossed. However inconspicuous I felt my little birdie was, my tapping foul finger sent a shock wave through rows and rows of the very people who shine the buckle on the bible belt. When I got home, I met my dad who was clutching a very different kind of belt. It was fun. My mom barely spoke to me for two weeks. I think it was the only time my parents actually stuck to a grounding.

Now, some of you might be saying, "well, you were just a kid then." Well, I suppose so, but grown up men make little boy mistakes every single day. Just ask their wives. And I guarantee you that not a sermon or service goes by when a pastor or music minister isn't flipping someone off in their minds from the pulpit. "Well, there's that old crabby bastard just a' sittin' in the back with his arms folded. It's because of him that nobody can hear back there. He has been the biggest thorn in the ass of the budget committee." or, "There's old such and such. Scowling as USUAL over the Anthem I picked. He can just kiss my butt and smell it."

The point of this post is this: We aren't so disgusted with the sin, really. I mean, he didn't really "harm" anyone. He wasn't banging the secretary or laundering church money. He was just doing a grand bit of faking. And yes, Pastor Michy Vanilli may have dashed a few sick people's hopes who admired him for his battle with cancer (fake-cancer.) But come on, there are plenty of other role models who have fought and beaten cancer. And if they can't listen to his songs anymore then they better just stop quoting David's psalms since David killed a man so he could get freaky with the man's wife.

We are disgusted because it makes Christians and Christian Music look so dumb and gullible. It is also a tad sickening that this guy played upon the illness of others to get money. But don't all songwriters do that in smaller, more acceptable ways? Do they reeeeally feel all their emotions towards their daughters when they write those wedding songs? Now WAY they are thinking -just a little bit - "holy Osteen, this could make me richer than M.W. Smith and Amy Grant's lovechild!" Don't ya think that when Chris Tomlin or D. Crowder or Mercy Me writes that perfect praise melody, that for a brief little second, along with hearing the voices of angels they hear, "ca-ching?" Yeah, I'm suuuuuure ole' Bart doesn't regret selling the publishing rights to Only Imagine to Amy Grant for a 100 grand. And I'm suuure Amy really regrets that deal. Yeah. Riiiiight. But that's OKAY! Nothing wrong with making an honest days wages.

The dangerous bottom line is this: There is a pretty penny to be made in the CCM world and it is a business. Brody once asked the lead singer of Switchfoot for me "what's the difference between an "artist who is a Christian" and a "Christian Artist." The lead singer replied, "The Christian Artist makes more money."

The man with the tubes in his nose, faking cancer was just doing what we've all done on time or another when we cheat on our taxes, or what the Chinese volleyball player did when she was about to lose to the Americans... they fake it. They go overboard. They take advantage of the system. This man was doing what everyone of us do, except on a grander, more ridiculous level. He was just doing it from a church stage... with oxygen tubes in his nose. I will admit, that's pre-----tty low-down, but sin is sin and we've all done it and will continue to do it.


In the end I think I'll cut the tubes-in-his-nose-cancer-faking guy some slack. I'm sure he's got many-a'-night to sleep on the couch and ponder his decision. We can pick the sin, but we sure as hell can't pick the consequences.

It always sucks when a Christian publicly screws up, but what sucks more is how the Christian community reacts. We are sooooo embarrassed. Embarrassed about what? Embarrassed that man is flawed? That Christians aren't perfect? I'm not embarrassed. Maybe a little, but more amused, sadly. If we are devastated that a Christian can sin, well, get used to it. Honestly, I'm not so worried about this guy any more. His sin is out in the open. I'm more worried about the millions of Christian men dilly-dallying in front of a picture of a naked lady on their computer monitor, late at night when the wife's gone to bed.

Hopefully we can be a little forgiving to the guy and take this time to examine ourselves and our motives, and try not to be such colossal suckers. Hey, maybe the guy's got a future in a middle-aged boy band.

Kentucky Apartment Chronicles, (abridged verstion.)

So, I had planned to closely chronicle the Kentucky apartment saga/experience, reliving every morsel on this here blog. I have now grown bored with that notion. It's time to move on. I offer you the late-nite cliff-note/Tarzan (or slightly Tanto-ish, I can't decide...)version.

Kentucky remind Sethzan of Jungle where he grow up. Big bugs used to cary little Sethzan accross Jungle. Used to make Sethzan go boom boom in loincloth. Sethzan kill big Kentucky jungle spider to conquer childhood fear.

Kentucky Jungle make me feel at home, until we reach cabin. Bunch of people in the Cabin. Sethzan no like. Sethzan cannot make bathroom thunder sounds without all other man/woman-people hearing.

Sethzan hint to producer to move him and woman to nother tree. Him say, "We'll see." Him give Sethzan a wink. Sethzan think that his man-charm has scored a nice place for him and woman to have some... alone... stuff. Sorry, Sethzan has to stop typing for second to beat chest for woman painting her toe claws.

Back now. Where was I?... Oh.

Producer returns next day and says we stay at apartment. Sethzan and Amber do a little happy dance. Sethzan goes to view apartment. Apartment look like several chimps throw crazy parties on the carpet. Apartment also smell like chimps had pee pee contest near bed and the biggest bubba chimp won.

Sethzan break news to woman. Woman sees for-self. Woman holds nose.

Sethzan and woman complain to winking producer. Winking producer sends young helper to clean it. Young helper was like bad gorilla. Him not do good job.

Sethzan and woman think they stuck in chimp-pee/poo hotel. We real sad. Us spray lots of Febreeze. Too much we thinking. We start having bad dreams and having glowing tinkle water from the fumes.

Then, next day, bathtub fill up with poop water. This last bamboo stalk.

Finally we move into another house. Very nice. Owned by very nice man. Him also own a very nice woman. Rest of summer we sleep gooder.

The End.